Man From Atlantis: Revelations Of Home
With ragged breath, a young woman raced down the deserted shoreline as fast as her legs could carry her. The sensation of running was all at once an invigorating and exhausting experience but the fear of capture killed her joy. She struggled to stay away from the water's edge and looked up despairingly at a large house on the cliffs – The Foundation for Oceanic Research. It was long past sundown and she hoped that somebody would be there to let her inside.
She managed to lose her two pursuers when she hid behind the rocks, but they quickly spotted her and she was forced to flee again. It would have been easy to dive into the ocean and disappear for good, but she stubbornly refused. It wasn't her time to return home. She still had four days left of her land sojourn before the portal re-appeared. A stitch in her side slowed her down and the muscles in her right leg tightened until it hurt. She never felt this sensation. She tripped face-down in the sand and rolled over as the men surrounded her.
There was nothing left to do but scream.
A female high-pitched cry echoed down to a tall, well-muscled man in yellow shorts standing on the edge of a parapet overlooking the sea. Mark Harris poised to dive deep into the waters to retreat for the night. Sleeping in the aquarium at the Foundation sometimes made him feel cloistered. His co-workers quickly learned that he could be trusted not to abandon them once he went out to the ocean. Although he performed great services for the U.S. Navy and the Foundation, he was still a free man and allowed to come and go as he pleased.
Mark observed the commotion and his anger mounted. He wanted to help the woman, but he needed his full vigor. The water would revive his strength to superhuman proportions. He dove in and swam rapidly to the area. When he rose from the surf, one of the captors clutched her and tried to drag her into the water. The other just laughed and brandished a stick pulsing with electric blue beams.
"Please help me!" She shouted to Mark.
Mark sprinted from the waves and surprised the kidnappers. He rushed up behind the shorter man who held the woman and grabbed him in a headlock.
"You let her go! Now!" Mark demanded.
The kidnapper gasped under the crushing weight of Mark's forearm and released her. Mark swung the short man into an oncoming wave. The man holding the prod thrust it at the woman. The jolt was near excruciating and she fell backwards into the surf. Mark lunged and they tackled each other to the sand. He grabbed the prod and ignored the jolts, then broke it in half and flung it into the water. The man grunted that he would return and ran away with his cohort. Mark noticed a dark schooner bobbing half a mile down. He couldn't worry about them now. The woman did not surface. He hurried to the water's edge and submerged.
"No! She will drown!"
With his extraordinary underwater vision, Mark came upon a phenomenal sight. The woman lay huddled on the sandy bottom and her lower half glistened through the darkness. Her head hung low and her hair flowed in silky blonde ringlets around her. She cried and held her mid-section in pain. Mark swam closer and gaped at her beautiful, aquamarine fish tail gliding up and down. He swam beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flew open, but she was too weak to defend herself. She cowered as Mark spoke in a soothing manner.
"They are gone for now. I mean you no harm. My name is Mark Harris. I will help you."
She stared into Mark's brilliant green eyes for what seemed an eternity, taking in all the finer details of his gentle, yet defined features and marveling at his webbed hands. Her gaze landed upon the conch and wave symbol on his shorts. She smiled weakly at him and offered up her hand. Mark entwined his fingers through hers and was compelled to draw her close. She nestled into his arms and whispered.
"You…you are from Atlantis."